


Our Stories Told In Nighttime Whispers

by boleynhowards



Category: Six - Marlow/Moss
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:00:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23604952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boleynhowards/pseuds/boleynhowards
Summary: Anne Boleyn can’t sleep. Asking insomniac girlfriend Catherine Parr for help proves to be helpful to more than just herself.
Relationships: Anne Boleyn/Catherine Parr
Comments: 2
Kudos: 98





	Our Stories Told In Nighttime Whispers

Anyone who didn’t know the queens that well might have presumed that Anne Boleyn was the latest sleeper out of her and her girlfriend, Catherine Parr. It was an understandable assumption; the second queen was so full of energy and chaos that it was hard to picture her as ever being tired.

The key words above are “presumed” and “assumption”. Whilst Anne was dynamic during the day, when nightfall came she was just like anyone else; ready to sleep. That’s not to mean she was an early sleeper. No, plentiful nights were spent watching movies until the early hours of the morning or accidentally scrolling through her social media feed for five hours instead of the intended five minutes.

On a normal night, Anne went to sleep at around two; tired out from a double show day, rehearsals or hours smashing buttons on her Switch - all she knew was that she needed to wake up by ten the next morning, else risk being shaken awake by an impatient Aragon. (Or, on a luckier day, a sympathetic baby cousin.)

What people might not have expected was the sleeping dynamic with Anne’s girlfriend, Catherine Parr. Cathy was widely held the responsible one of the relationship, which, in some aspects, might have been true. Among those, sleeping was not included.

Rest was not the way to charge batteries for the sixth queen. She preferred turning to countless cups of coffee, fuelling herself on endless highs of caffeine throughout the day and finally sleeping for about three or four hours every time dawn began to break.

Cathy knew that perhaps this wasn’t the most healthy schedule to uphold, but what choice did she have? She was a writer and a bookworm. Living in a house with five other women and committing her full-time job to a theatre show really proved to nullify the opportunities of concentration she could give to her literacy passion. The silence of dusk with the only sounds being the drumming of her fingers as she typed, the scratching of her pen against her paper and the flicking of her page as she turned it proved to be a much better environment to focus than the daytime, which was filled with clanking from the kitchen, angry yells at videogames and the television turned up so loud that Cathy could hear it from her bedroom upstairs.

So, as the weekly family game night ended a little later than usual, Cathy was ready to fix herself up a mug of coffee and commit the next few hours to literature. She had decided on simply reading a book that night; her time was already cut considering that the game had gone on for so long, and her mind was tired from all her strategic thinking, yet she still lost. Who knew Monopoly could take up to six hours?

“Goodnight.” Cathy waved to the other queens as she took her mug and began upstairs. Instead of going into her own room, however, she turned and made her way for Anne’s. It was a change of location she had made on the second queen’s request a few weeks ago. Anne missed Cathy’s presence for comfort when she was shut away in her room and Cathy didn’t mind setting up at Anne’s desk at night if it made her happy. That and the sound of Anne’s breathing in the background was strangely calm, but it wasn’t like Cathy was going to admit that.

When Cathy entered, Anne was already in bed. She had taken her hair out of its buns and looked fixated on whatever had appeared on her phone, so Cathy assumed she was going to go to sleep soon. Without a word (there was no need to in this comfortable silence), Cathy made her way through the layer of mess covering Anne’s carpet and to the window seat on the opposite side of the door.

She always sat there when she read in Anne’s room. The seat was comprised of soft blankets and velvet pillows that kept her warm. The windowsill to her side made the perfect perch for her coffee mug, her reading glasses and the small nightlight she used to illuminate the page in the dark. The window allowed her to look out and admire the London street during the night; usually occupied during the day but always so tranquil in the dusk. The best part for Cathy though was that from the window seat she could keep an eye on Anne’s sleeping form on the bed. She could smile as Anne’s antics continued in the form of sleep gesturing or drop what she was doing and check on Anne if it looked like she was having a nightmare. It was a tiny pocket of her life but one she treasured deeply.

As Cathy drew the blanket over herself and picked up her book, she was startled by Anne breaking the silence.

“Cathy?” Anne asked, having turned off her phone. She now laid on her side, squinting to make out the writer sitting in the window seat. She could just make out Cathy’s form outlined by the moonlight.

“Yes, love?” Cathy replied, lowering the book. She was engaged but didn’t know what to expect - with Anne it could be anything from a shower thought to a burning deep observation about life. That’s what made her so enticing.

“Can you read in the bed tonight?” Anne requested, patting the side of the bed. For a moment Cathy wondered if she was scared or felt a nightmare coming, but Anne’s voice wasn’t quivering as it did when that happened and she seemed fine.

“Why?” Cathy questioned, just to make sure. Nonetheless, she pushed the blanket back off of her and grabbed the mug of coffee she had just placed on the sill before standing up and walking to the bed.

“‘Cause even though you’re in my room, I still miss you next to me.” Anne admitted, shuffling to the side to make more room even though there was plenty.

“Awww, Annie.” Cathy warmly smiled, tucking into the bed and turning to face her girlfriend. Luckily for Anne, the darkness succeeded in masking her blush, “You could’ve asked before, you know?”

“I would’ve, but you always look content whenever you read and I don’t want to interrupt.”

“You’re way more important than my books, love.” Cathy told her, lacing an arm around Anne to pull her closer. It was a gesture Anne seemed to appreciate because she climbed further into Cathy’s side, resting her head in the crook of Cathy’s neck.

“I missed cuddling with you.” Anne sighed with pleasure, gazing up at Cathy.

“We were doing it about twenty minutes-”

“Shush, I know.” Anne interrupted, a mischievous grin exploding on her face, “Much too long ago for my liking.”

“You’re so clingy!” Cathy teased, earning a playful eye roll from Anne as she propped open her book with one hand. A benefit to spending so much time reading was that she could hold Anne with one arm and still successfully manage to read a book using just one hand. The second queen had different ideas though.

“What’re you reading?” She asked, squinting at the page. It wasn’t like either of them could see the words with no nightlights by the bed, something Cathy seemed to have miscalculated.

“I was going to read  _ Northanger Abbey _ .” Cathy told Anne, continuing to explain when no sense of familiarity came to the second queen, “It’s by Jane Austen.”

“Oh, her!” Anne nodded, “I’ve heard of her, but not that book.”

“You should read it, maybe when I’m finished with it. It’s really good.”

“Why don’t you read it to me?” Anne asked, looking from the page and to Cathy again.

“What do you mean?” Cathy asked, not expecting that question.

“What I just said. Read it to me?” Anne’s tone was too adorable to deny.

“Okay.” Cathy agreed, “But I’m almost at the end, so you probably won’t understand what’s going on or who’s who.”

“Let’s read something else then.” Anne suggested. Usually, Cathy was not the type of person to switch up her reading order. She was very linear in working her way through each book at a time. But this was Anne speaking.

“Which book?”

“Dunno.” Anne shrugged, thinking, “I like  _ Harry Potter _ , I read all those in like… a month.” She grinned, “ _ The Book Thief _ is good too. Ooh, what about  _ The Couple Next Door _ ?”

“Those are all good books.” Cathy nodded, “But why not try something new?”

“Well, what d’you recommend? You’re the one who gets through eight books in a week.”

“Anne!” Cathy mocked offence, putting her hand on her heart, “Hm… what about  _ Red’s Untold Tale _ ?”

“Tell me a story.” Anne seemed to pay no mind to Cathy’s suggestion as a lightbulb suddenly went off in her mind.

“Huh?” Cathy looked down at her in confusion.

“Like, you spend so much time writing, surely you’ve got loads of stories by now. I wanna hear.”

“Oh, those…” Cathy trailed off shyly. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Anne. She just hadn’t shared her work with anyone. It felt personal. Anne seemed to notice this though.

“Or you don’t have to tell me one.” She quickly reassured, “I was just curious is all.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Cathy reassured. This was Anne, and she knew she would never judge her, “I’ll need to go get one though. They’re in my room.”

“Oh.” Anne pouted, holding onto Cathy before she could go, “But I don’t want you to leave. Tell me about them all instead? Then I can read some tomorrow.”

The survivor smiled at Anne’s clinginess, staying put and turning around. She discarded the book she was holding to the bedside table and put her now free second arm around Anne too, twisting them both around so they were face to face, inches apart.

“Of course. What do you want to know?” Even if she was nervous, speaking about her work was strangely exciting. Cathy never really shared what she wrote about with anyone, spare from a few things she had told her godmother. It meant even more that it was Anne who was taking the interest.

“What are they about?”

“Loads of different things.” Cathy thought for a moment, “I have two whole lives to pull inspiration from, after all. There are some about sisterhood and companionship. About losing and finding. About family and motherhood. About falling in love with the one who’s meant for you.”

“Bet that one’s about me.” Anne chimed, but what was meant to come out as a joke was more filled with wonder and admiration for how passionate Cathy sounded as she spoke.

“Duh.” Cathy playfully grinned across at Anne, cupping her face as she continued, “You’re a main character. So am I, sometimes. So are Kat, and Anna, and Jane and Catherine. So is my Mae.” The last part just poured out as Cathy got lost in her words. As she realised what she said, she looked down sadly.

“Cathy…” Anne pulled up a bit, lifting her hands to take both of Cathy’s and squeezing them gently, “The stories sound amazing and I can’t wait to read them tomorrow. I’m really happy that you have an outlet like this to let everything out. And… I know that, if she were here, Mae would be reading them all day. In fact, she’d probably be writing her own at this point because she’s got the best mama in the world, who’d’ve taught her all about the power of words.

Crying was no intention of Cathy’s that night, but somehow she had managed it. Then again, in this house, nothing should have come as a surprise anymore. They weren’t sad tears, though they weren’t joyous either. More tears of yearning for Mae, combined with the impact of Anne’s words consolidating her feelings even more for the second queen. There weren’t many, just enough for Cathy to apologise as Anne wiped them away with the pad of her thumb.

“Don’t be sorry, love.” Anne whispered softly, moving her hand from Cathy’s face to play with some of her curls instead, “It hurts, I know. But you’re getting through this in probably the best way I’ve seen. I mean, look, you’ve probably written whole novels. That’s so cool!”

Cathy laughed softly at Anne’s enthusiasm, moving closer to her. At this point, they were just tangled in each other’s limbs, pressed against each other affectionately. It was something different from working for hours, and Cathy didn’t expect to have liked it as much as she did. There was no productivity or working, which is what made Cathy feel put off about it before - but there was Anne. And that fact made it worth it.

“Do you wanna go to sleep?” Cathy asked after a while of silent embrace.

“I never thought you’d ask!” Anne gasped dramatically, and had she not been wrapped in Cathy’s arms she would have fake fainted too, “Yes, I do.”

“Alright then.” Cathy smiled, pecking her lips against Anne’s cheek. It was something she always did before she crashed, but usually the beheaded queen wasn’t awake to witness it, “Goodnight, Annie.”

“G’night, Cathy.” Anne smiled, returning the gesture but on the lips.

For the first time, Anne was the one who watched Cathy fall asleep. She smiled at her steady breathing, holding Cathy protectively in her arms. After that, it was easy for Anne to fall asleep too. She did have her biggest comforter in bed with her, after all.


End file.
